


The Job

by Animeley



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, F/M, I'll add more tags later, Kinda, Loki - Freeform, Self-Insert, Slow Burn, Slow Fucking Burn, farm, maybe smut, safehouse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-05-10 11:40:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14736285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Animeley/pseuds/Animeley
Summary: “I am not your personal babysitter, Tony.”A.K.A. you are tasked with keeping Loki safe out in the french countryside.





	1. Chapter the First

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written fan fiction in so long, but I was super inspired by this prompt on tumblr so here goes nothing. Constructive criticism is always welcome.

“I am not your personal babysitter, Tony.”

“I never implied that, I just asked if you could perhaps watch a dangerous criminal 24/7 to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself or anybody else,” the man of iron retorted.

“So, a babysitter?” the man before you began to open his mouth only to close it, defeated.

“Yes, I need you to babysit him, minus the whole cute, baby aspect of the concept.”

Rolling your eyes and sighing deeply, you turned your body to face the window. When you had signed up to work for S.H.E.I.L.D. you didn’t remember volunteering for this.

“I have worked on and off the field for six years and suddenly I’m involuntarily vonunteered for this crap. Don’t you have some sort of special prison to just throw him in?”

Tony answered your questions via facial expressions before uttering, “If we did, do you think we would be turning to you?”

You huffed. Facing Tony once again, you walked towards the long conference table, took a seat, and motioned for your company to join you. Placing both hands on the table in front of you on the table, you leaned in. Sensing a change in of tone from your body language, Tony stiffened and prepared himself for an interrogation.

“What even qualifies me for this job?” you start.

“You have been on multiple missions transporting criminals, your record for stealth is almost as impressive as Romanoff’s, and I have no doubt that you could snap his neck like a twig if you were to encounter a problem.”

“How will I count on his compliance?”

“With the help of his brother, we have developed a pair of handcuffs that will disabled his powers when worn.”

“Why not just keep him on Asgard, is that not his home?”

“His punishment there is death on sight, firing squad is armed and ready.”

“That seems just, was it not only earth but also his own planet that he planned to dominate in previous endeavors?” you inquired.

“I can’t disagree with you, but it seems his brother has some sympathy. Thor convinced his father to let him serve his punishment here on earth until he has acquired some sort of ‘appreciation’ for us”

“Where will I, supposing I actually accept this mission, be holding him?”

“A small village in the countryside of France for now. We thought it best that he not be around too much civilization yet. It’s secluded but not completely isolated. We will expect bi-monthly checkups and will have multiple agents with an hour’s drive at all times.”

“What do I get out of this?”

“A sense of accomplishment and knowing you are saving my ass?” You rolled your eyes at his response.

“Why me?”

Tony paused for a second, thinking as his answer would determine if you accepted or not.

“Because I trust you.”

“You’re going to have to do better than that Stark”

You pushed yourself to a standing position and headed towards the exit. Before you could completely leave the room, Tony grabbed your wrist.

“After this, you can walk away. You can leave S.H.E.I.L.D. and never look back. We won’t look for you and any form of contact we have will be severed. I know you want out and this is your chance; accept my offer and you’ll have what you want most. Scout’s honor.” You looked into Tony’s eyes, searching for some indication of fraud. Instead, all you saw was a man, desperate and scared. You knew you were going to regret this.

“When do I start?”

* * *

 

You fidgeted with your hands as you waited. You had never been too good at waiting, instead favoring taking action. You stood in a makeshift S.H.E.I.L.D. office just beyond the border into Germany, being briefed yet again on what you were to do. You had heard the spiel so many times you could recite it in your sleep. Travel here, travel there, call every other month and most importantly, don’t let the prisoner out of your sight. Tuning the agent out, you instead focused on the cup of pens and various other writing utensils now rattling on the desk. The pens jumped excitedly, as if trying to escape their confines.

“Are we clear Agent (Y/L/N)?” you looked up to see the agent, you had been given his name upon introduction but hadn’t bothered to retain it, very aware of the fact that you were ignoring him.

“Like crystal,” you assured him. It was then that you heard the airplane land outside. You launched out your arm just in time to catch the pen holder that had been rattled off of the desk due to the close proximity of the aircraft. Gathering yourself and a small duffle bag filled with personal belongings, you walked out of the office and onto the landing pad. A small helicopter entered your vision. You walked up to the plane, grab the handles, and hoisted yourself inside. Nodding to the passengers in the aircraft you recognized the two agents from previous jobs. Seated towards the back both bound and gagged, was the god of mischief himself. You noticed the deep-set bags under his eyes and various cuts littering his face that were sure to leave scars. He scanned over you as you entered the helicopter. Cold, light blue eyes seemingly glared at you as his first impressions of you set in.

“Agent (Y/L/N),” the pilot said.

“Hey Pat, how’s it going?” you asked as you slid into the seat next to him. You lightly patted his back as adjusted to your new position.

“I’ve transported stranger cargo, but this makes it into my top ten list.”

“I think this job makes everyone’s top ten list,” the other agent chimed. When you turned around to acknowledge her and notice she had her hand firmly gripping her gun. She seemed extremely skittish around present company and her eyes never strayed from her side. You placed a hand on her leg as to calm her nerves and stated, “If he wanted to kill you, he would have done it prior to the five-hour plane ride here.”

At the mention of his presence, the god turned his head to you, an indiscernible look plastered upon his face. The agent only looked away from him briefly to stare directly at you.

“Doesn’t mean I have to be any less vigilant, ma’am.”

You gave the agent a smile in response and turned back to face the front of the plane. You watched as the plane took off of the ground. You flew above rolling green pastures and sporadic buildings, shapes and colors blurring together. You always enjoyed the low hum of plane rides and scenic views. After a bit, you allowed yourself to relax a bit and relish in the ride, watching the world fly by from your viewpoint. It seemed like no time had passed when the blurs of colors cease to be incoherent. The aircraft landed in a pasture a few yards away from a long, dirt road. Awaiting you was an old truck, looking no better than the beaten-up god sitting behind you. As the helicopter landed, you jumped out and threw your duffle bag over your shoulders. Next, you helped your prisoner exit the aircraft as gracefully as possible when bound at both the wrists and ankles. You grabbed onto the chains connecting his handcuffs and tightened your grip as the god fully situated himself to be standing next to you. Before he fully left, Pat threw you the keys to the truck and shouted, “My condolences!” over the loud noises of the aircraft.

You smirked at him and gave a two-finger salute as the plane took off. You waited until the helicopter was fully out of view before turning towards the god of mischief.

“Shall we?” you asked whilst gesturing at what now was your only mode of transportation. Without waiting for a response, you tugged at the chain and began walking. You were surprised at how compliant the god was. You presumed that it was because he was a tad bit grateful not to be dead. Opening the passenger side of the truck, you aided the god of mischief into the seat and closed the door. After climbing into the driver’s seat, you put the keys in and twisted your hand. You held your breath and crossed your fingers as the car started, not fully trusting in the truck’s ability to work. You sighed in relief as the truck started and the two of you were driving down the dirt road. After about ten minutes of driving, a small, white farmhouse came into view. You parked the truck in the makeshift driveway and looked around taking the scene in.

“Home, sweet home.”


	2. Chapter the Second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much needed discussions

The small house was painted white on the exterior. The paint was flaky and chipped in various places and revealed that the white was not the first layer of paint that had colored the house. Green shutters hung loosely from the windows and you guessed they would not be of much use in dangerous weather condition. Gray shingles donned the top of the house and you noted that someone had recently redone the roofing. Focusing now on what lay in front of you, you noticed two rocking chairs facing each other on the porch. They were decorated with quilted pillows and surrounded by scattered potted plants of all sizes. The whole house invited a warm feeling of home that you never had the privilege to experience. You could easily imagine retiring here to live out the rest of your days accompanied by a loved one and enveloped in only pleasant feelings. You forced yourself not to get too distracted by your daydreams and focus on the task at hand. You exited the car and walked around to grab your prisoner and duffle bag. When both possessions where safely in your grasp you walked up the stairs to the front door and unlocked the creaky, red door. You flicked the light switch near the doorframe and watched as the room was illuminated. The front room appeared to be a living room with one large L-shaped couch worn down by years of use and several smaller, mismatched armchairs. Each chair contained at least one handmade pillow, similar to the ones resting on the porch outside. A grand fireplace took up most of the left wall. Its white painted bricks poked out in an odd fashion and you wondered if the fireplace was recently rebuilt by an unexperienced hand. Towards your right, you noticed a small, circle dining table and chairs which lead to two French doors opened to expose the kitchen. You turned your attention back to the living room and examined the various knick-knacks adoring the room. You quickly made a note to yourself to remove any sharp, pointy objects from the room. You moved farther into the living room and helped the Norse god as he took a seat on the couch. You placed your bag on an armchair a few feet away from him. You pulled another chair to directly face the god and took a seat. Crossing your legs and leaning back in the chair, you brought your eyes up to meet his.

“Okay let’s start with some ground rules. One, you do not leave this room unless given permission too. Two, the better you behave, the better I treat you. And lastly, if you let even one toe out of line I will not hesitate to kill you.”

The god in front of you arched one eyebrow to your last sentence, as if taunting you. You smiled and leaned close to him, so close you could practically see his every pore.

“I know you think you are this almighty, undefeatable being, but I’d take a look around at your situation. You are wounded beyond belief, and your plans were thwarted so spectacularly I don’t even think ‘failure’ quite captures the essence of how bad that went for you. The only reason you are here now and still have your pathetic excuse of a life is because your brother has a tremendous amount of sympathy for you. I know my mission is to protect you, but honestly this would still be successful regardless of if you left in a body bag or not. I would think very carefully on what you plan on doing next, because trust me, I don’t play around.”

His eyes narrowed to slits as you pulled away from him. You could feel his anger radiating off of him and it only made your smile grow into somewhat of a smirk.

“Have we got a deal?” you asked. The god continued to glare daggers at you, not moving. You raised both brows and shrugged.

“Fine, stay bound and gagged. I’ll still be here when you finally see reason,” you stood up and moved the chair back to its original position. Picking up your bag and unzipping the top, you pulled out a small, silver laptop. You turned and headed to the dining table. You placed the laptop down on the table and then headed back into the living room. You grabbed a throw blanket that was hanging off the back of the sofa and laid it flat on the ground. Next, you scanned the room and retrieved any sharp objects you saw. After placing each of them on the blanket and tying the soft material into a makeshift bag, you hoisted the bag over your shoulder and carried it back towards the dining table. Placing the bag near the feet of the chair, you took a seat and opened your laptop. You didn’t know how long you were going to be here so you figured you would finish some extra projects you picked up before this whole journey began. Scanning the computer and then adjusting the whole device to allow your prisoner to be in your peripheral vision, you began to work. After a few hours, you felt your eyes start to hurt from constant screen use. You rubbed your temples trying to relieve some of the pain. Finding your attempt fruitless, you got up and headed into the kitchen, but not before checking on your prisoner once again for what could as well have been the ten thousandth time in the past few hours. Finding all the ingredients to a very needed cup of tea, you started the process of heating up the water. Venturing back into the living room, you walked until you were standing in front of the god, still sitting upright on the couch. You reached your hands up to undo the metal contraption forcing the god’s silence. As your hands got close to his face, the god pulled back quickly as though he was a scared, wild animal. His eyes moved frantically about, trying to figure out what your plan was.

“Stay still,” you commanded. This time the god didn’t move when your hands got close. Undoing the gag, you placed the thing on the coffee table behind you. The god was moving his jaw about, most likely trying to relieve the soreness that he no doubt had.

“Better?” you asked. He didn’t answer you, only looked up to meet your eyes.

“I can only assume you must be hungry or thirsty, want anything?”

This time, the god did response verbally, “I am thirsty.”

“And what are the magic words?”

“Get me something to drink, I am thirsty,” the god responded with a slight twitch of his upper lip. You laughed slightly at his attempt of sass.

“Well then, your majesty, as you wish,” you said as you walked back into the kitchen to retrieve the god’s wish. Once you had a full glass in your hand you returned to place the glass in the gods hands. His face scrunched in confusion as he held the glass, which was full of ice.

“This is not what I asked for,” he said looking at you with disdain.

“Wait.”

Understanding now what you meant to accomplish with the glass, he took in a large breath and slowly released it. His frustration amused you. You could not understand how someone who was so recently defeated could still maintain a sense of such superiority. You went back to make your tea and returned to your work. You didn’t get very far when you heard your stomach calling out for food. Annoyed, you tried to ignore it. You didn’t want to spend the time away from your prisoner to make something edible. As the minutes passed, however, your stomach had other ideas. Now growling rather loudly, you realized just what a traitor your own body was. You hadn’t eaten anything since that morning and it was now well into the night.

“If you don’t attend to your problem now, I’m afraid it will only worsen.”

“I am well of that,” you retorted. As quickly as you could, you walked into the kitchen to find a meal without much preparation. Your eyes scanned the inside of the pantry and landed on a few bags of microwavable popcorn. That would have to do. After ridding the bag of its plastic wrapping and placing it in the microwave, you moved closer to the living room until you could see the god, still holding his glass, now containing what look like two sips of melted ice. You waited there watching him until you heard the microwave ding. Collecting your makeshift meal and a large bowl, you opened the bag and poured the popcorn into the bowl. The smell wafted through the air and into the old cracks of the farmhouse. Placing the bowl on the table you now have claimed as your desk, you got back to work.

“What is that?” you heard from the couch. The god had turned his body towards you, eyeing the bowl of popcorn.

“Popcorn, why do you ask?” you answered, taunting the god. His response was another glare. Feeling a slight bit of pity, you nodded your head, beckoning him to join you at the table. He shuffled his way off the sofa and to the dining table. Sitting opposite to you, he went to reach to grab a handful of popcorn. He was stopped short by the chain connecting his wrists to his ankles. You had to cover your mouth as not to burst out laughing. The god huffed in annoyance and placed his hands back in his lap. Still giggling, you stood and went to retrieve the hands-only cuffs that would disable the god’s powers. When you returned, you started by unlocking his handcuffs first, knowing full well the ankle cuffs would still debilitate the god. Without hesitation, you clicked the new handcuffs on the god. You let the other cuffs fall to the floor in the loud clunk. Now free, to some degree, the god reach for the popcorn and was successful in his endeavor, however awkward he looked. You two sat in silence as both of you ate and you worked. Suddenly, the bowl tipped over and spilled popcorn on the table. You looked up from your screen to see the god just as frustrated as you.

“Why must I wear handcuffs at all times, do you not trust me to eat?” he asked, not meeting your eyes, instead glaring at his bound wrists.

“I thought you’d like the handcuffs, they seem to suit you.”

“What would give you that idea?” the god asked, slight disgust on his face.

“The head to toe leather.”

The god opened his mouth to ask another question, but settled with his mild confusion. You leaned back in your chair and continued to work as night became day.


	3. Chapter the Third

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Progress

Sometime during the night, the god moved back into his position on the couch. The rattling of the still connected handcuffs on the wooden floors were indication enough that you didn’t have to look up to realize what happened. You were surprised on how well the god of mischief did not live up to his namesake. As the sun rose, its ray slipped through the cracks of the blinds, illuminating the room in splotches of warm oranges and yellows. Checking the digital clock on your computer, you noted that it was just past seven in the morning. You stood up and winced instantly. Your muscles were sore from sitting in the same position for so long and your neck ached from sudden movement as you moved your head around, attempting to ease the pain. You walked until you were standing behind the couch. You noticed the god had ended on his back, face buried in the crook of his arm as the other rested on his chest. His chest rose and fell, moving his hand slightly. You debated waking the god up to bring him into the kitchen as you prepared breakfast but decided against it as you watched him sleep. He looked peaceful as he slept. You moved to grab the mouthpiece you had discarded on the coffee table earlier and pocketed it. After, you turned around and headed into the kitchen, deciding to make pancakes. After checking the cabinets for all the necessary ingredients, you got to work. You weren’t a certified chef, but after years of making pancakes with your dad, you were certain you made the best goddamn pancakes in all the universe. It wasn’t until you had already starting cooking that you heard shuffling from the other room. Turning the heat down on the stove, you went to check on the prisoner. You weren’t one step out of the kitchen when you ran straight into a large chest. You raised your hands to shield you from any attack and push the god away from you. He must have been as surprised as you because the next thing you knew, the god was lying on the ground, eyes as large as saucers. It did not take long for him to realize what had conspired and look up at you with mild anger.

“What on earth was that for?” he asked, slightly out of breath.

“You startled me! I went to check on you only to run, quite literally, into you.”

“You did not have to assault me.”

“I am a trained assassin, what do you think I do when I’m scared, cry to my mom?”

He simply rolled his eyes and made a haft-hearted attempt to stand up. You both knew any attempt would be futile. You helped the god to stand and directed him to sit on a stool near the island. You turned back to the stove and raised the temperature. After finishing cooking breakfast, you slid a plate across the island along with a fork. You began looking around for a bottle of syrup to accompany the pancakes. After finding a bottle you poured a generous helping on your breakfast and slid it just as you had done earlier with the pancakes. Instead of eating, the god was eyeing the dish, hands placed to the right of his plate. Making your way across the island, you went to unlock the handcuffs. You had to commend Tony’s genius. The cuffs unlatched from each other to form two magic-deflating bracelets. The god looked up at you, nodded general thanks, and then to carefully pick up the fork. You returned to your plate and started eating. Mimicking you, the god slowly, but surely, took his first bite.

“Never had a pancake?”

“No such pastry exists on Asgard. Pray tell, where did you learn to make these?”

“My dad. Every Saturday morning, we would make pancakes. After a while it became second nature,” you answered not looking up from your plate. A smile grew on your face as you reminisced.

“What got you involved in S.H.E.I.L.D?” the god asked.

“Why does it matter to you?” you retorted, finally looking up to meet his eyes.

“It doesn’t really, but I suspect we will be here a long time. It is simply in both our best interests to acquaint with each other.”

You gave him a look of apprehension before relaxing and speaking, “My father was a general in the navy. As a child I adored him, he was my hero, and I knew that when I grew up, I wanted to help the world just as he had done,” your smile had long vanished but in its place a slight frown had taken its place. You missed your dad and wished with all your heart that you could see him again.

“In loving memory of him? Let me guess, was it a freak ‘accident’ that ended in an unsolved murder case pushing you to enact revenge on those who wronged you? Is that what makes you so interesting?” the god quipped pushing his chest up in a false sense of patriotism. He smirked at himself, confident he had unraveled your life story from bullshit context clues. You grimaced and raised one eyebrow at the god.

“I don't require a tragic backstory to be interesting. Your interest in me stems from outright boredom, and do not think you cannot deceive me with half-hearted flattery. My father died of natural causes long after my involvement in S.H.E.I.L.D. began.” The god looked taken back at your response.

“You believe yourself so smart and charming, as if you did not just previously try and dominate my world. Countless lives are gone because of your little stunt and all you can think to do is sit on some handmade pedestal that tricks you into believing you are above everyone else.”

“You know nothing about me,” the god growled.

“No, I only know your actions and the excuses you gave for them, but the difference between you and me is that I don’t delude myself into thinking I can fully understand you. I base my acquisitions on what I can see, not what I can presume.”

As the atmosphere continued to become hostile, the god’s grip on his fork tightened. Within the seconds following that action, you had rolled across the counter to place yourself behind the god, fished the metal gag out of your pocket, secured it to the being in front of you, and locked his handcuffs back into their original position. It did not take long for the god to realize what you had done. He lunged at you from his chair and you quickly dodged him, barely missing his attack. Taking a few steps back from the now very hostile god, you reached behind you to grab any object that could act as a weapon. Luckily you found a kitchen knife just in time to place yourself behind the god, knife at his neck. He squirmed in your grasp and you pushed the knife until you saw it draw small droplets of bright red blood. Leaning in close to his ear, you whispered to the god.

“I wouldn’t move if I were you. One more move and this knife lodges itself deep into your neck.”

The god stopped moving and you kicked at the back of his ankles to get him to walk towards the living room. Stopping by the dining table, you forced the god into one of the chairs. Unlocking the cuffs just long enough to cuff the god to the chair, you safely secured him to the chair. You took a step back hesitatingly, awaiting the god’s resistance. When none came, you resumed your position by your computer, but instead of opening the silver device, you leaned forward, placing your entwined hands on your lap. You never broke eye contact with the god. You decided that you would just have to be content with watching the god of mischief until his timeout was over.


	4. Chapter the Fouth

You don’t know how long you were sitting and watching the god. It felt like only thirty minutes, but the passing of the sun across the sky told you that it had been hours. The two of you were completely still, neither daring to move a muscle. When you finally did move, it was only to advert your eyes to the nearest clock. The hands told you it had been well over 48 hours since you slept, and you could feel the effects of dreariness creeping into your bones. You reverted your eyes back to staring into the pale eyes sitting before you. You coked your head slightly, nonverbally asking your companion if he had learned his lesson. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, relaxing his body. You took this as his formal resignation. Standing up, you stretched your aching body before taking a step forward and taking the metal gag off of the god.

“Are we good?” you asked him.

“Clearly that choice is not up to me.”

“Your punishment here is based on how you make it; if you act like a temperamental toddler, you will be treated as such. I will treat you the way you treat me.”

“So, if I were to make passionate love to you, you shall reciprocate the emotions?” the god quipped, a smirk dancing on his face. You leaned over to place a hand on his check. Lightly tapping the side of his head as you huffed in amusement.

“Cute, but not a chance in hell.” You moved behind the god and unlocked the cuffs on his ankles first before resetting his handcuffs to place his hands in front of him.

“Come on,” you said as you helped the god to his feet. You directed the god towards the unexplored bedroom. As you walked in, you flipped the light switch and raked your eyes over the room. It was small and occupied by minimal furniture. A wardrobe and full-length mirror filled the back corner. A large, maybe king-sized, bed took up most of the room, and a pile of pillows covered most of it. Two large rugs lay on the floor, covering the of the old wood. To your left was another door which was slightly ajar to reveal a bathroom. You placed the god sitting on the bed and went to search the room for a change of clothes. Once you found a suitable outfit, you pushed the clothes into the hands of your prisoner.

“There’s a bathroom in there, I presume you know the basics. I will be sitting right outside. If I hear anything out of place, all modesty is lost. Understand?” you asked the god as you pointed to the bathroom door.

“Your Midgardian technology may be primitive, but I am not stupid enough to misuse it.”

“Primitive, but advanced enough to kick your ass. Get in there, both of us are starting to smell,” you said, dragging a chair to face its back right against the walling adjacent to the bathroom. The god seemed to want to retort but thought better of it. Before he completely vanished from your sight, he held out his wrists to you and cleared his throat. You eyed him curiously, not truly convinced he should be allowed use of his hands.

“You do not truly believe I can’t be trusted enough to clean myself.”

“You did just try to attack me,” you responded. The god sighed, and though to himself for a moment.

“Please.”

You looked him up and down, not really knowing if you were about to make a good decision or not. Looking hard into the god’s eyes, you could not detect any sign of deceit, not that you truly trusted this.

“Fine,” you said as you unlocked the cuffs. The god walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Not long after you heard the water start to run and a hiss of frustration. You laughed out loud.

“Not as easy as you thought, huh?” you called to the room behind you. You could imagine the god’s irked face perfectly, without having to actually see it. After a good 10 minutes the door opened and released a curtain of steam with it. The god walked out donning the clothes you had found for him. His hair was wet and he had a damp towel in his hands. You stood up.

“Alright sit down,” you said as you nodded towards the chair you were previously sitting in. The god sat down and you secured him the chair. After, you went to the wardrobe to find yourself a change of clothes. Once successful, you made your way into the bathroom. The room was filled by a thick blanket of steam. You wiped the mirror and stared at your reflection. Looking back at you was yourself, of course, but you looked worse for wear. Your eyes were dulled and set part from your face by dark circles. You sighed, knowing that you only looked slightly better than the god on the other side of the door. Placing your clothes on the counter besides the shower, you began to strip. You peeled away each layer, thankful for the already heated room. When you were fully naked, you went to start the running water. Finally, once you were satisfied with the temperature, you stepped into the bath/shower combo. Your entire being instantly relaxed as the warm water ran down your body. After washing yourself with a thick lather of soap, you turned the water off and dried yourself. Towel-drying your hair would have to suffice for now, so to avoid having to deal with wet hair dampening your clothes, you tied your hair up. Not wanting to waste any time, you quickly got dressed and returned to your prisoner. He was thankfully where you left him. You unlocked him from the chair and guided him back into the living room, closing the bedroom door as you walked past the threshold. The god went to take his seat on the couch and you searched the room for blankets. You found a heap of crotched blankets in a woven basket. After gathering one for yourself and one of the god, you made your way to one of the larger armchairs that occupied the living room. You threw one of them on the chair you had mentally claimed and the other to the god. Before sitting down, you walked over to a large bookcase adoring the far side of the room. You scanned the titles to find something to peak your interest. Settling on what looked like a mystery novel, you pulled the book free of the shelf and went to take your place on the armchair. You sat down and tucked your legs under yourself. You pulled your blanket over your body and cracked the book over. It was not a full minute before you heard the god clear his throat to get your attention. You looked up to him.

“May I?” he asked, gazing over to the bookshelf.

“Knock yourself out.”

“Pardon me?” you god asked, taking slight offense to the colloquial.

“It’s just a saying, it means ‘go head’,” you explained, not bothering to take your eyes off the novel in your hands. You didn’t see the god’s face as he walked over and chose a book for himself, but you could imagine that it was something that expressed disgust for Midgardian mannerisms. You made sure the god was seated back in his spot before allowing yourself to become engrossed in your book. It was not long before you felt your eyelids become heavy and you drifted off to sleep.


	5. Chapter the Fifth

When you woke up the next morning, you struggled to keep your eyes open as the sunlight streaming through the windows blinded you. Placing a hand to in front of your face to block the light you finally were able to take in your surroundings. Your book was lying on the floor next to your chair. You halfway remember it falling out of your grip as you fell asleep. Light snoring brought your gaze to the couch. The god of mischief was lying face up with one arm grazing the floor and the other over an open book placed on his chest. You extended your legs past the confines of the chair you slept in and stretched, your joints cracking as you shifted. You then stood up and went to the kitchen. Once there you found the ingredients to make coffee. While waiting for the hot beverage to brew, you shuffled around trying to find something decent for breakfast. The smell of the coffee was starting to invade your senses and you smiled at the welcomed scent. You found something sustainable for breakfast just as the coffee pot alerted you to its completion. Finding that you had apparently woken up on the good side of the armchair, you walked back in the living and leaned over the back of the sofa, directly over the god.

“Sweet or bitter?” you asked. You didn’t truly expect an answer but hope the sudden noise would cause the god to stir. As hoped, the god’s face scrunched up as he woke up. He groaned in response and possibly the harsh light of the morning sun.

“Huh? Sorry, didn’t catch that,” you spoke again, causing the god to crack one eye open.

“Terribly sorry, I was much too startled by that horrid ogre mask you have on.”

“Well this horrid ogre has taken pity on the pathetic being in front of her and suggests you take what you get and not throw a fit,” you retorted.

The god’s lips turned into smirk in response.

“Now, sweet or bitter? You never answered me.”

“Sweet or bitter what exactly?” questioned the god.

“Coffee.”

The god cocked one of his eyebrows up. You sighed and stood upright. Motioning for the god to follow you, you made your way into the kitchen and started pouring the freshly-made coffee in two mugs. You spooned out two scoops of sugar for yourself and left the other mug untouched. Then, you handed the mug to the god and started to drink your own. The god brought the mug up to his lips and tipped the dark liquid into his mouth. Almost instantly, his gagged and spit the coffee back where it came from.

“I’m guessing you’re not a coffee person then.”

“Why the bloody hell is it so bitter?”

You shrugged.

“I put a bit of sugar into mine to make it sweeter. I can put you some.”

“Please.”

You took the mug and added two scoops of sugar, but after, adding another for good measure. The god seemed content with the results of the second taste-test.

“I was thinking we could take a walk outside today,” you stated, not really talking to anyone in particular. You received no verbal response, but it didn’t truly matter, you were the one in charge. The two of you sat in silence as the coffee was drunk. You gathered both of the mugs and placed them in the sink. After, you walked to the dining table and to your duffle bag. You grabbed a few knives and armed yourself for good measure.

“Scared of something?” the god’s voice came from behind you.

“Yeah, overdramatic scene kids.”

The god looked at you once again in confusion, sighed, and accepted not knowing. You continued on your way to the front of the cottage and to the front door. You unlocked the door and let the door swing open, bathing in the sunlight.

“Alright, let’s go on an adventure,” you said as you crossed the threshold. The god followed suit and you locked the door behind him. You took initiative and began walking right. After about twenty minutes of walking in silence, the two of you reached a small stream with wildflowers growing along the banks. You sat down on the soft grass and dipped your feet in the calm water. The god copied you, sans the getting wet part. You laid on your back and watched the clouds float across the sky.

“I could watch these clouds all day,” you said.

“I do not understand how you mortals can find such pleasure in such insignificant details.”

“It’s not about how interesting the details are, it’s about finding the good in each small moment. In a world ruled by violence against our brothers and sisters, we need to find the good in any way we can,” you countered.

Tentatively, the god laid beside you and rested there. Hours passed by as the two of you laid beside the stream. Light conversation flowed between the two of you and you enjoyed the peaceful company. When the sun began to fade, you sat up. You eyed some of the wildflowers and with one scoop, grabbed a bouquet of them. Then, you stood up and motioned the for god to follow you. Bouquet in hand and god on your tail, you made your way back to the cottage. Once you were back in the safe house, you put the flowers in a water-filled vase and set them on the dining room table. You turned to look at the god.

“What do you want for dinner?”

“I am unaware of Midgardian dishes, perhaps it would be a wiser decision to allow you to decide.”

You rolled your eyes, “A simple ‘I don’t know’ would have worked.”

You walked into the kitchen and went to work finding something to make for dinner. After discovering a package of uncooked pasta and tomato sauce, you brought out a large pot and filled it with water. Turning the heat up on a burner, you placed the pot on the stove. You eyed the god of mischief as he watched you move about the small kitchen.

“Would you like to help?” You inquired.

“I don’t suppose I have a reason not to.”

You instructed the god to stir the uncooked pasta once the water began to boil and went on to finish the tomato sauce. After completing that task, you turned your attention to the god. He was stabbing the water with the wooden spoon you had given him.

“What are you doing?”

“I do not know.”

Nearly laughing, you went behind the god to wrap your arms around him and guide his arms in a stirring motion. Once he got the hang of it, you took a step back only to then notice how intimate the position had been. You frowned and pushed those thoughts away and focused on one thing at a time. Once the pasta was cooked, you dished out two servings. You and the god ate, him copying you and you eating the dish in the most absurd ways you could possibly come up with.


	6. Chapter the Sixth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Due to popular demand (like one person) and some crazy burst of inspiration, I bring you another chapter.

A few days later the two of you decided to explore every nook and cranny of the cottage. To say you were stir crazy was an understatement. Normally, you would have your emotions in check, but for some reason you were too jumpy today. So, without anything else to do, you began the mission to have the entire house memorized by sundown. You started with the kitchen and began to catalogue each and every item in the pantry. The god of mischief found you surrounded in a semi-circle of canned goods. After mocking you for your insanity, the god returned to the living room only to join you moment later. The two of you had moved to the living room and were taking down every title on the bookshelf.

“A lot of _Sherlock Holmes_ ,” You remarked.

“There are many novels on, how did you say, ‘tasteless smut’ here as well.”

“Someone after my own heart,” you mumbled.

“I’m going to assume you said something tactless about the books and ignore that.”

In response, you stuck your tongue out at the god. It was a childish move, but you didn’t have anything clever to respond with. You sat on the floor making your way along the bottom shelves, but the majority of the second to last shelf was taken over by a vintage radio. You spent nearly 5 minutes in some weird trance just twisting the knobs and pushing the buttons before you were broken out of the haze by the machine turning on. Both you and the god standing next to you jumping at the sudden sound.

“What is that contraption?”

“It’s an old radio, I didn’t even think it could work this long past the warranty,” you explained. The radio continued to blast out static until you twisted the right knob and found a station. Sweet, melodic music streamed out of the speakers. A classical symphony filled the air, hindered a bit by static here and there. You closed your eyes and let the music soothe your body. When you opened your eyes, you were met with an outstretched hand.

“I may not understand many of your customs, but I do know you Midgardians enjoy the art of dance.”

“Is that a fact or a question?” You teased.

The god only gave you a look of disdain and then proceeded to pull you off of the ground and on to your feet. You stumbled a bit at the very ungentle movement but regained your balance quickly.

“Dance with me, Agent.”

You eyed him at first but then placed your hands on the god and started to move along to the music. You felt the god tightened his grip on your waist as you swayed to the beat. After a few minutes of slowly dancing together, the two of you found yourselves in a tight embrace. This close to the god, you could feel the leanness of his body as he moved along to the rhythm. You felt as though you were in a bubble. Everything around you was muffled and blurry. The light from the sun formed a warm halo around the two of you and you as you moved you could have sworn the world seemed to stop. You looked up at your partner. On his jaw was a scar. It was jagged and angry. You wonder to yourself how that scar got there. What had happened to him? Were there more scars on him that you didn’t know the origin to? Suddenly you wanted to explore the meaning to every tiny imperfection on his skin. Your eyes focused solely in the jagged line on his face, but fixating on that scar brought you back to reality. You abruptly stopped, causing you to step on the god’s foot.

“Have you suddenly succumbed to my good looks?” the god teased, with a smirk reminiscent of the Cheshire cat.

You huffed a bit of laughter and look the god in the eye.

“Only in your dreams Reindeer Games.”

You moved away from the tight embrace and went to turn the radio off.

“If we want to get through these books by sundown, we need to stop getting distracted,” you said, half paying attention to the words coming out of your mouth. The other half of your brain was screaming questions at yourself in a rapid fire. You never got this distracted on a mission, what had happened? Was it the god? Was he somehow casting a spell on you? No, the cuffs Tony made are fool-proof, you would never doubt the genius, but something wasn’t right. You liked the god well enough sure, but you didn’t allow yourself to get attached to prisoners. Maybe it was the closeness of the two of you. Yes, that must be it. You had never been on a mission like this one. Of course, it was the uncommon nature of this mission. It wasn’t any sort of genuine feelings, but an adjustment to this situation. Being so close with someone for this amount of time had to have side effects.

“Might I inquire what is on your mind?”

The god broke your inner monologue and you found that you had been silently nodded to yourself as you answered your own questions in your mind.

“I was thinking about how different this mission is to anything I’ve ever done.”

Without wanting to answer any more questions, you abruptly stood up and walked over to another, smaller bookcase that contained what you assumed were children’s fairytales. You scanned the titles and were surprised to find they were in English. After picking a thin book and pulling it slightly out from it place, you pushed it back and turned towards the god.

“What kind of fairytales did you have on Asgard?”

“Not many, most stories I was told as a child were war stories.”

“Is that why you became such a cold and cynical person?” you asked with a smirk. The god raised his eyebrow and went to sit down on the couch facing him. You followed him and sat crossed legged.

“I would say it made me into a mighty warrior, capable of defeating all of my enemies.”

“Yes, very capable, why are you here again?” you teased again.

The god’s smile transitioned into a cynical grimace,” I am here only because I am such a disappointment to my father that he would rather execute me then face his failures.”

Your features changed dramatically as you reacted to the information you were given. Sympathy contorted your face and you reached to place a hand on his face. He instinctively began to retreat but then softened into your palm and looked up to meet your gaze.

In a split second his face transformed and he retracted. Instantly his eyes lit up like a rabid animal and he lunged at you. You reacted with just enough time to jump off the sofa and out of his reach.

“What is your game mortal?” he growled at you. “What are you doing to me?”

He lounged at you again and succeeded in pinning you to the ground. His hands found your neck and began to squeeze. You clawed at his hand with little success, but was able to flip the god over and pin his arms behind his back. With a click the cuffs linked together. You crawled out the god’s reach as fast as you and watched as the god sat up and then hunched over in defeat. Your eyes were as large as saucers and your breath was labored. You stayed on the floor, hands behind you, ready to move away from the rabid prisoner at any given second.


End file.
